Banshee Screams
by FallenShateiel
Summary: Neville has lost his grandmother. Summer 6th Year. He is silently blaming Harry. NLHP


**Banshee Screams.**

C: one shot.

R: K+

P: HP/NL

S: Neville has lost his grandmother. Summer 6th Year. He is silently blaming Harry.

* * *

I could hate.

In many ways I do. I hate him for the fact that I have lost everything I ever treasured for "Harry Potter". A simple boy whose name means more than he ever could...

OK I am bitter. But justly so.

My parents are insane, the person who raised me is now dead. I have to stay in a house that is packed full of people who pity me, thinking I'm too dumb and sensitive.

I hate the generalisation but it serves its purpose when I want to be alone. I prefer to be alone these days, finding others' company bothersome and down right annoying.

No offense to Ginny or Hermione but they are the worst offenders.

Sighing I continue hating Harry as I stare at the cracked ceiling of Ron's room. Feeling sick with despair and tired with sadness...

* * *

I'm Neville Longbottom. I should be thrilled to be within a ten-foot raidius of Harry Potter. Nevermind sharing the same bedroom with him.

Groaning I fail in trying to fall back to sleep. I want to smother myself because of Ron's snores. Harry never snores, and lately I myself have ceased the annoying habit.

But Fuck! Its pissing me off! How the hell someone can be so loud. I dont know.

I scream into the pillow in pure frustration.

I feel sorry for Hermione. She'll have to marry this.

"Welcome to the Burrow." a soft gentle voice whispers near my left. The room so small it seems like the voice is near my ear.

"Is it always so noisy?" I can hear the soft chuckle.

"I don't know. Kinda like it."

"Except Ron's snores?" Soft laughter.

"Except Ron's snores."

I suppose you could say that I hate Harry Potter because he's everything I'm not. At some point I wanted to be everything he represented... everything my father was. My mother...

* * *

He's asleep now. I can tell by the heavy breathing.

There was an unexpected attack on St. Mungo's last night. Nearly the entire facility was destroyed along with 60 odd witches and wizards. My mother and father were amongst the dead. Uncle Agie was fatally wounded and most likely to die...

I was shocked and silently watching the material world fall behind. I got up from the table and left the room. Hearing no words spoken and only a ringing sound in my ears...

I'm sitting on a log outside the old house nicknamed 'The Burrow'.

The tears are behind my eyes, burning acid in my skull. My heart is pounding,m but my veins have frozen. My back feels like it will break if I straighten it. The sun is out, right when the rain should come... cold and wet. Wind to freeze it.

But no.

The fuckin' sun is out.

I really have no legitimate reason to be so angry.

Oh Wait.

Yes I do.

* * *

I feel hollow. Empty as I did when I meet the Dementor's. As though I will never feel happiness again.

The funeral was postponed seein as how the Order is trying to figure out a plan of attack. Give a dog a bone...

"Neville?" Soft and feminine.

My grandmother was a pianist when she was young. It was how the hard woman showed her emotion. I loved hearing her play... when she taught me, revealing that I had potential she was beyond thrilled. Saying with the carefulness I put into the garden she might've known my passion.

She didn't mind that I forgot most of the written music unless it was right infront of me. She loved me to play what was on my mind... or the tips of my fingers.

I did.

That was how I was taught. To feel the world.

That is why I became a tearful frog catching boy.

Turning to Mrs. Weasley I ask politely.

"Where is the nearest playhouse or church?" The only place I know for sure that have a piano.

* * *

Its a small playhouse. With a sad dingy looking piano.

Beggars can't be choosers.

After asking the salt and pepper haired man, I go to the piano stool.

My grandmother would be rolling in her grave.

Sitting, then opening the top to reveal the white and black dusty keys. I become something that is insubstantial. Something that is not a 'Longbottom' or a 'Gryffindor.'

The first noise I make sends trembles of ecstasy down my spine. Hutching my back I lean over the keys and throw my soul into it...

Each pound on the keys sounding like banshee screams killing pieces of my soul bit by bit. Spirling over and over as sound and touch become intertwined and One... the music keys are too close to my face. As my fingers go faster and more hurried I fall into a blood and blackness...

* * *

I awake on the floor with hands keeing me from sitting up. The wetness and smell of copper tell me that I hurt myself. Worried emerald green eyes are infront of mine. Not saying anything as his hand begins to clean the blood on my face.

Staring at me as though seeing who Neville Longbottom really is for the first time.

I don't like it.

* * *

They've brought in a piano to the Burrow.

I play it as though if I stop than the World will stop orbit and fly into the Sun.

Most days I don't eat, sleep or speak... just play the piano listening and feeling. I know they think I've gone mad with grief, but I don't care. Because even if I have they praise my skil land listen to the dark morbid banshee screams I play...

I've lost too much weight and ahve Snape yelling at tme for all the potions he has to brew for me. I'm anemic now, so cutting myself on sharp edges of plants has all the women worried. I don't speak and sit in a chair for several hours before jolting awake. So the Weasley Twins don't taunt me. I don't sleep so I have myself slowly wasting away...

Yet I pound on the white and black keys as though to hold pitifully to Life.

Harry and the others avoid me.

* * *

I'm standing in the graveyard where my family line has now been laid.

Its very quaint and shows nothing of the Death it holds. Teh tombstones perfect and the grass greatly matintained. Its sickening.

I guess I should cry. My entire family buried at last. Dead and leaving one last Longbottom left. The one no one would suspect to survive Voldemort's War.

But I don't cry anymore. I put the yellow roses at the foot of my grandmothers grave then turn to leave the perfect little graveyard of dellusion.

* * *

Finally tow days before Hogwarts, the numbness passes finding me crying in my little cots pillow.

Heart wrenching sobs that shake my body.

Someone sits on the end of the cot tracing circles into my lower back. Holding me as I stain the pillow with a river of tears...

When I am done the arms turn to hold me. My head on the chest, breathing in the soft smell of outside and wood. I find it relaxing and love it.

I could hate Harry Potter, but love his scent.

"Neville..." So many questions, yet I hold no answers.

"I hate you." Simple as that.

"I could see it." Can I not hide?

"Do you know why?" Bet he does.

"Yes." Bingo.

"Then why are you holding me?" I don't want him to let go.

"Because I love you." Silence.

"Neville, I love you. I love you because you are so completely different than me and at the same time the same. Listening to the piano I realized that.Seeing the hate and contempt you hold for the world makes me hurt. All of the time I just wanted to be your friend and have you want to be mine..."

My hand is off his chest. I look at his sad face.

His soft rose petal lips touch mine.

The banshee screams are louder...

* * *

A/N: Sequel? maybe but I am very cynical about love so expect Draco to pop in. 


End file.
